


Stripped

by Anonymous



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 13:38:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13388943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Subs will usually hold still until he lets them know he’s finished, but it’s usual dom behaviour to keep someone right where you want them to be.__In which Julian Bashir is perhaps hiding something in addition to being an augmented human.





	Stripped

 

_Three hours away_. 

His hands don’t shake, having diligently trained himself over the years to control the reflex- a doctor with shaking hands, can you imagine- but he can still feel the temptation. Can still feel the frisson of tension and energy gathering at the base of his spine. 

_Just three more hours._  

The Betazoid he’s currently treating for second degree burns on her hand from a work accident shoots him a nervous glance, a quick flick-flick of eyes before returning them demurely to her knees. Probably picking up on his nervous energy, and he makes sure his spine is straight, shoulders relaxed, murmuring “Nearly done. You’re doing very well.” 

With the one hand he has holding her wrist steady, he gives her a brief reassuring squeeze. The easy praise is soothing, and she slightly tucks her chin with pleasure, showing a sliver more skin at the back of her neck. Julian can appreciate the gesture, in an aesthetic way, but keeps his mind firmly in the medical bay. He thumbs off the dermal regenerator, reaching with one hand for an antibac-hypo while maintaining his hold on the Betazoid with the other. Subs will usually hold still until he lets them know he’s finished, but it’s usual dom behaviour to keep someone right where you want them to be. 

Hypo administered, he lowers her hand gently to her thigh, before giving her the Stern Doctor Lecture. “No scratching at that, I know it’ll be itchy, but you’ve got to give the deeper tissues time to adjust to the new skin. That means no binds, no manacles. Free hand play _only_.” 

She blushes, an endearingly shy smile on her face, and gives him a quick nod, her gaze reaching maybe as high as his chin. She’s collared, and Julian suspects one of her Rules is silence towards other males, going off her arrival in medbay, which had been without a sound, white-lipped and trembling, injured arm clasped to her chest. 

He steps back and half-turns back to his instrument tray, giving her a gentle dismissal. 

“Off you go, then. You can tell your dom you were very good for me- and make sure you tell them about no bindings for a while!” 

Her shy smile spreads cheekily across her face as she hops of his chair, walking to the doors and outside. There’s a faint increase of noise, the low bustle of life outside the medbay drifting in, and Julian sighs. 

_Just three more hours_. 

~

Two hours later, Julian is lacing up his trainers, trying to ignore how his shoulders are Definitely Tense now. He hopes a quick match or two with Miles will help work that out, as well as take the edge off the gnawing bud of static energy that’s been steadily working its way up his spine all day. 

As per Federation regulations, Julian uses the dom changing rooms to get into his gym clothes, a loose shirt and shorts. There’s an Orion woman, naked and toweling off at the lockers across from him, a similar outfit tossed on the bench between them. 

“Good match today?” Julian asks, maintaining steady eye contact. He’s seen her on the courts a couple times, wonders if he can finagle a match together someday. She’s got a wicked backhand- as a medical speaker, he hopes she only uses it on her Sub if they’re very naughty (or very lucky). 

“Not bad!” She flashes him an easy grin, friendly. “The courts are pretty friendly today. Even for ‘Toms.” Her grin goes a little wry, inviting agreement, confidences. Julian pushes the grin onto his own face, even at the slightly derogatory slang for Subs. He really quite dislikes locker room talk sometimes. 

“Well, I’m sure you’ll take it out of them later.” He manages, switching his focus to his other shoe. 

It wasn’t as though the Station was _bad_ for dom/sub dynamics. If anything, Julian thought things were pretty impressively decent, given how many species intermingled here and how far they were from the governing body of the Federation. All newcomers intending on long-term stay on the Station were treated to a two hour mandatory holo consisting of Odo (in his most terrifying Chief of Security tones) instilling a healthy appreciation for law and order, and laying down the official Federation Standards for all dom/sub interactions, something which Julian found a bit rich. 

It’s not that the Federation still clings to old archaic notions. Oh, it’s all well and good for Subs to join the Federation- now, at least- and there were milestones all the time; celebrations of the First Sub To Make First Officer on a Starship, or the First Sub-lead Away Team (and even a success, too, well, who-would-have-thought). But they all smacked of a certain condescending indulgence to Julian, a pat on the hand instead of a congratulatory shake. 

“Are you ready yet?” Miles sticks his head around the row of lockers, already dressed and swishing his racket experimentally. “It’s nearly our court time.” 

Julian bounces up on his toes, testing the tightness of his laces. “Yes, ready.” 

“Right. You’ll have to go easy on me today, my shoulder’s a bit rough.” Miles hunches the shoulder in question as they walk, stretching his arm back. 

“Oh? Something I should have a look at?” Julian asks, careful to pitch his concern with professional interest. People could easily misinterpret offers for care as Sub overtures. 

“No, no. It’s fine.” Miles waves him off. “Just got a bit of a workout yesterday, that’s all. Keiko’s had a hard week.” 

“Nothing too strenuous, I hope.” Julian offers, neutrally. 

“Nothing that a few paddles don’t put right.” Miles shoots him a smile as they walk onto the court. “I tell you, Julian, the things we do, eh?” 

“All for the ones we love, Miles.” Julian returns his easy smile, already rolling onto the balls of his feet, eager for movement, for action. “My serve?” 

~ 

He walks through the halls at a controlled pace, steady and purposeful, even though in his head he’s counting down the meters, the _seconds_. He hadn’t showered after his match with Miles, not wanting to spend the time, not when he has a perfectly serviceable fresher in his quarters. Not with the tight rope of anticipation coiling itself tighter around his stomach. 

When he finally reaches his door, it’s almost a physical relief, to hear the quiet _shhh_ of the doors opening and closing behind him. 

“Computer, lock the door, please.” 

Step One, check. 

There’s the gentle _chime_ in response, and at the sound he lets his eyes slide closed, letting out a sigh that he feels like he’d been holding in all day, as he sinks to his knees. 

Step Two, check. 

His shoulders are still a little stiff, and he rolls them twice before crossing his wrists behind his back. 

Step Three, check. 

Then he waits. But not for long. 

He can hear the fabric more than anything, something thickly woven and heavy, luxurious. He swallows in automatic response, anticipation rising in him as the sound draws closer behind him, then level with him. He doesn’t turn his head to look though. Rules are rules. There’s a brief pause, as though he’s being tested, assessed, then at last, _at last_ , there’s fingers in his hair, tugging just hard enough to imply that worse pain would be in store if he resisted, and he _goes_ , resting his head against a well-muscled thigh. He was right. The fabric _is_ rich, almost velvety against his temple, and he rubs his face into it, as far as the grip on his hair will allow, moaning softly. There’s a low chuckle from above him, and he wants to bury his face in the fabric, sink lower onto his heels, turn belly up on the floor, if that’s what it takes to bring out that pleased noise again. 

“My dear doctor,” Garak says, scratching his scalp lightly with his fingernails, and Julian wants to _melt_. “You look as though you’ve had a long day.”

 

 


End file.
